It's Not Okay
by IPutOnMyHeadphonesWalking
Summary: Harry's not okay. The Dursleys have gotten worse. He's back in the cupboard. Sirius is dead. And Harry believes he deserves it all. I suck at summaries but I promise the story is much better. T 'cause I'm paranoid.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a multi-chapter fic and will not be abandoned, _I promise. _I will take _any _comments, even if they are one word or mean. Just tell me how I did! It would mean the world to me. **

**Oh, and this takes place the summer after his 5th year and contains (River Song pops up) _Spoilers. _I haven't read the books in a while so my timeline might be a little wonky but, enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters.**

Chapter One

Harry stared at the letters sprawled out before him, all with varying types of handwriting. Hermione's neat cursive. Ron's messy scrawl. Hagrid's even _messier _scrawl. They all bore messages of greeting, or at least the firsts of the summer did. Hermione told him of vacation plans. She told him of homework schedules and how he better be doing his. Ron told of quidditch points and magical things. He told of his father's work and Charlie's dragons. He told of the pranks his brothers played and the harping of his mother. Hagrid told him of new creatures and how Harry would love them. Harry liked reading these letters, they were comforting. But, when he didn't reply, the greetings turned to concern.

More and more concerned letters came through until Hermione finally said that she would tell Dumbledore if she did not receive a reply. So, reluctantly, Harry had taken out a piece of parchment and a pen (his quills were all locked up upstairs, and he only had time to grab important books during his nightly raids of the cupboard upstairs.) And he wrote. It was only a short letter. Just enough to sound believable and dispel any concerns. He told Hermione that he was fine and sorry for not writing back sooner. He told some lie of Hedwig being put away when in all reality, this was one of the first years Hedwig was allowed to be out of his cage. He told Hermione how the Muggles were only being a little mean, and how he thinks their afraid of him. This couldn't have been more of a lie. His Aunt, Uncle, and cousin all seemed to feel fine now that his wand was taken away, and was the meanest they've ever been. He told her he was okay, to tell the others, and that he probably could not write back after this, but he was still receiving letters.

Her reply was held in his hands. She wrote that she was relieved and would tell the others. Harry couldn't help but feel disappointed. He had half-hoped that she wouldn't believe him and would send Dumbledore to knock politely on Number 4's door, as he does. He had hoped that Dumbledore would tell off the Muggles and retrieve Harry. He wanted him to open the cupboard door and smile that brilliant of his. He wanted him to save Harry from this hellhole that was Number 4 Pivet Drive. The other half of him, however, was immensely glad that no one was here. No one here to witness his shameful life. No one here to see him curled up in his too small cupboard. No one here to see the bags under his eyes, or the way his ribs were visible even under the baggy clothes he wore. He couldn't even remember the last time he ate.

Oh, wait. Yes, he could. It was a bit of egg he had stolen from breakfast a few days ago. He was caught and was beaten mercilessly for it and was not allowed any food since, not even the infinitesimal table scraps.

So there he sat now. Well, he was half sitting, half laying, mostly just curled with his feet rested on the wall. He lay there on his cot, which was creaking from old age, reading letters in the small amount of light provided by the slits in the door. The air was musty and reeked of mildew and just, _dust. _

Though, to be completely honest, Harry would much rather be in the cupboard then outside with the Dursleys. When he had come distraught with the guilt and grief brought by Sirius's death, the Dursleys must have seen this as a sign of weakness and submission. They tested him at first, only being slightly meaner than usual, but soon gained confidence. They had moved him back into the cupboard about a week after he returned, and have been horrible since. Though, he had to say it was quite nice not to do chores anymore since the Dursleys apparently couldn't trust him with the responsibility. He only really emerged from his cupboard to cook meals and do little tasks.

So, Harry spent most of his time rereading the letters and petting Hedwig. It was quite depressing, stuck in his thoughts of guilt about Sirius's death. All of the what-ifs and I-could'ves ran through his mind. If only he had listened to Hermione. If only he had worked harder at Occlumency. If only he had listened to everyone and stayed put, Sirius would still be alive.

Harry fell asleep quietly sobbing with his head tilted back on the wall behind him.

Many tears were shed in the cupboard under the stairs.

Just as they were tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I. Got. One. Follower. ****_*inhuman screech* _****You have ****_no _****idea how happy that makes me! This is a total crap story and I'm only writing it because I'm bored but ****_wow. _****When I saw that I had 20 reads and a follower I could not stop smiling. (I know, pathetic. Am I right?) Any way some violence in this chapter, kind of glad I rated this T now. Umm... I don't think I have anything else to say except ****_PLEASE REVIEW. _****It would literally mean the ****_world _****to me. Just a couple seconds to review, I just want ****_one _****review pleaase. It could even be a mean one, I don't care. Anyway, I'm done with my rant, hopefully you enjoy!**

Harry woke feeling worse than ever. He _should _be happy. He was going back to Hogwarts today. He would see his friends. He would be away from the Dursleys.

But for _some _reason, Harry couldn't make himself feel happy. He kept waiting for the feeling of elation to come, but only a nauseating sense of anxiety enveloped him.

This summer was different to the others. Not in the sense that he was back to the cupboard under the stairs. Not because he was beaten harder than he had ever been before.

It almost felt as if he was another planet. Drowning in his grief, he was almost glad to be away from Hogwarts. Away from the pitying stares. Away from the constant reminders of his doomed life.

For some odd and sick reason, he wanted to stay at the Dursleys. He wanted to stay away from his friends, Hogwarts, Harry _bloody _Potter. He just wanted to sit in his cupboard for all eternity. Forget everything that ever happened. Forget the damned prophecy. Just sit and watch the spiders make their webs.

And if he had to face the sick wrath of Uncle Vernon, then maybe he deserved it. He had gotten Sirius killed. He killed his last _real _family, so it was only fair that he got stuck with his _other _hateful family members.

"_BOY!_"

_Damnit_. He had been sitting in his cupboard for too long and had forgotten about breakfast.

Harry slowly rose from his cot, joints aching from being curled up for too long.

_Time for hell _He thought bitterly, pushing the cupboard door open. He walked down the hallway, opening the door to the kitchen and dining room.

The morning view was as it always was. Dudley was sitting at the table, barely able to fit on his seat, Uncle Vernon was flicking through the paper with obvious boredom and Aunt Petunia was making notes on her daily planner. Though, they all stopped what they were doing (except for Dudley, who was doing _nothing_) for a split second the give Harry a disgusted glare.

Harry, who was dead on his feet, shuffled over to the kitchen to begin breakfast. Soon, the smell coming from the eggs was agonizing, and his stomach gave a pitiful, but loud, groan.

_Too loud._

"Did you say something freak?" _Crap crap crap crap cra-_

"Your uncle asked you a question _freak._" Came Aunt Petunia's harsh but somehow poise voice.

His head clouded with dread of what he knew what was going to come.

"N-no. I didn't s-say anything." He stuttered, voice quavering from fear.

"Well I sure hear something," Uncle Vernon said with a sick smile while rising from his chair, "And I don't tolerate liers under this roof."

Uncle Vernon was steadily getting closer and Harry scrambled back...right into the pan of eggs.

The pan fell to the tile with a clatter, the sound filling Harry with downright panic. Uncle Vernon looked at the fallen pan, then back to Harry, his eyes filled with anger.

"You shouldn't have done that," The older man stated before snatching the still-hot pan and hitting the boy over the head with it, sending the frail teenager tumbling to the ground. Uncle Vernon then began to kick the boy mercilessly, almost to the point of unconsciousness.

Harry was in a world of pain, his head throbbing painfully from the pan. He could feel the bruises blossoming across his pale skin. Kick after kick was sent his way, each blow harder than the last. There was only one thought running through his head, repeated like a mantra and growing stronger with each kick, _You deserve this. _

"Vernon, don't rough him up too bad, he's going back to that _freak house_ today." There came his Aunt's voice, stopping the kicks.

Uncle Vernon looked distastefully down at Harry before gruffing out, "Fine" and walking away.

Harry lay there for a moment, dreading the moment when he would have to get up. The moment came all too soon, and he struggled to his feet, only to start breakfast again.

All while doing so, Harry was trapped in his thoughts. He thought of how he deserved the painful bruises littering his body. He thought of how he deserved the painful throbbing in his head and the way his eyesight was hazy.

_If Uncle Vernon hit me harder maybe I would have died, _he thought, _I would've liked that._

**A/N: Major shout out to Sweetblu26 for reviewing. I almost cried when I saw that I had reviews. You are awesome. Anyway, please check out my other stories if you have time, I am desperate for feedback. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Yeah I really didn't want to write. I wanted to but, I couldn't find the right **_**feeling. **_**I don't know. I just know I owed you guys a chapter, so I got my Hogwarts Alumni Shirt on, put on some music, made myself a bomb sandwich, and ground out this damn thing. Enjoy, I put off school work for this. **

Harry sat hunched over on the wooden bench, hood up in hopes that no one would see him. His mind raced in worry of the year to come. He didn't want to go to Hogwarts, but he did. He didn't want to see Ron and Hermione, but he did.

He didn't want to be _Harry Potter, _but he was.

Thankfully he didn't have to act on any of these insecurities since he hadn't interacted with any people from the wizarding world yet. That was probably due to the fact that he was _four hours _early. The Dursleys had opted to drop him off as soon as possible so they could get back to their normal and freak-less lives.

So that meant Harry had to sit on this wooden bench avoiding the stares of the other people at the station, drowning in his anxieties, for four hours.

_Kill me now.  
_

* * *

Harry sat in the back of the Hogwarts Express desperately trying to hide away from any social interaction. He didn't want people to see the bruises on his face. He didn't want them to see how skinny he was. He didn't want them to see how he had obviously not taken a shower in forever.

He didn't want them to see how broken he was.

So there he sat in the corner of the seat next to the window, watching the people walk by.

His lonely tranquility didn't last long though, for he soon heard the door slide open revealing a confused Ron and Hermione, causing Harry to shrink further into his corner.

They both stared at Harry for a moment Ron looking confused and Hermione wearing a calculating look.

Ron was the first to move, walking to sit next to Harry, talking all the way, "Hey Harry," he started cautiously, "Why are we sitting all the way in the back?"

Harry answered by shrugging, not really wanting to speak. His chest still hurt from that morning.

Hermione slowly sat down in the seat across from the boys, her face now taking on a worried look, "Harry, are you okay?"

Harry simply shrugged again, still looking down, before muttering, "Mm fine."

Hermione, being Hermione just huffed, "Harry you are _not _fine," she started in a tone that suggested she knew all, "You avoided us by sitting back here and you've barely spoken. Have we upset you or something?"

Harry, startled by her tone and bluntness, looked up (he soon realized this was a mistake) and glared at her, "No. No, I'm not upset with you. I-I just don't feel well."

As soon as Hermione had seen his face, her gaze immediately softened. She saw the bruises on his face. She saw the bags under his eyes. She saw how sunken in his face was, it was to the point where you could distinctly make out his cheek and jaw bones. She saw those eyes. Those eyes which were usually so brilliant and defiant, shining with intelligence, kindness, and sarcasm. They were _so _hollow. Hollowed out of everything that made them great, and filled with so much pain. Pain, sadness, grief. It was how his eyes had looked last year at the Ministry, but amplified.

"_Bloody hell!_" Ron so helpfully noted, "What _happened _to you?"

Harry turned to look at him, his face regretful, "N-nothing. I told you I don't feel well, I must be sick or something. It's nothing. I don't want to talk about it." He stammered out, pulling his hood farther up and sinking further down into his chair.

Hermione wasn't having it though, "Har-"

"_I said I don't want to talk Hermione._" He hissed, fully wanting this conversation to end.

"Harry, you need to talk to us." Hermione all but pleaded.

"That's where you're wrong Hermione," Harry started angrily, rising from his seat showing just how skinny he was, "I don't _need _to tell you anything! This is _my _business! I told you I'm fine, so that means I'm _fine._"

And with that, he grabbed his trunk and stormed away to find a seat away from prying friends.

* * *

Harry sat down at the tail end of the Gryffindor table with his head resting on the wood. He had deflected all conversation and found that if you ignored someone for long enough, they eventually stopped asking.

He didn't pay attention to any of the people getting sorted, or the things being said by Dumbledore. He didn't pay attention to anything except his own thoughts.

However, he was stirred when the lovely smell of food flooded his senses. He looked up to see the feast had started.

Harry wanted to dive right in, but for some reason was wary. He felt as if he would be beaten if he decided to take a bite. He knew it was ridiculous but he couldn't get his uncle's ugly face out of his head.

So, as much as his stomach was begging him not to, he pushed his plate away from him and stood to exit the dining hall.

He walked out ignoring the stares and whispers and slowly made his way to the dormitories.

* * *

Harry lied on his bed, thankful for the day to finally be over. His head was still clouded from fear due to dinner. Being in the dark didn't help much either. It seemed t press in on him. The dark could be hiding anything. In the dark, he couldn't tell how big the room was.

For all he knew, this could be a cupboard.

Harry fell asleep in fear.

**A/N: Yeah, sorry. I know the dialogue is crap but I suck at dialogue. I'm pretty sure this has a whole bunch of errors but what the heck, I'll fix them later. Ummm… oh yeah, thanks to my reviewers! You guys are awesome, you almost made me cry. **_**If **_**you have time, please leave a review, if you don't that's fine. The reads I get are enough. So, yeah. Thanks and peace! **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I got caught up with other fics and school work. This will be the last chapter. I hope you enjoy and thank you for making it this far into this crap story. **

Harry woke up screaming. His thoughts swirled restlessly and uselessly through his brain while the dark seemed to press on him. The blanket on top of him weighed a ton and none of his thrashings were able to get it off, only trapping him further in the cloth, much like how he was trapped in his thoughts.

He didn't know he was still yelling until he felt how sore his throat felt, and he immediately shut his mouth, bolting up-right, eyes frantic.

He looked around to see that he wasn't in the Dursely's, not in his cupboard. He was in Hogwarts, in his nice soft bed.

With many boys (and one girl, goddammit Hermione, how did you get in here?) standing around him, all looking frightened.

Ron, who was the closest, spoke first, voice surprisingly gentle, "You alright Harry?" He looked worried. _Damnit, great job Harry. You woke everyone up with you're pathetic yelling, and now they're worried. _

Harry didn't know what to say to that. He wanted to yell _No. _Yell that he wasn't alright, that he needed help.

But he didn't deserve help. "Yes?"

_Well, that was weak. Of _course, _they're going to believe that. _

Ron just looked even more worried, obviously not believing him, and was opening his mouth to say something when Hermione pushed between Dean and Seamus.

She didn't say anything as she grabbed his hand (taking note at the way he flinched violently at the touch) and pulled him out of the room.

She brought him, with Ron following dutifully behind, to the chairs by the fire. She all but pushed him into one of the chairs while she sat in the other. Ron just stood there obviously not knowing what was going on.

"Harry," _why was her voice so gentle, he wouldn't break, _"I want the truth."

Um, how about no. No thank you.

At his silence, Hermione continued, "Harry, you're not getting out of this one. We all just heard you screaming for you're Uncle to stop hitting you."

Harry just winced at that. Some great _Harry Potter _he was now. He just had to have such a loud mouth.

He didn't know what he was supposed to say, so he just brought his knees up to his chest, trying to pretend that this conversation wasn't even happening. _Maybe he would break._

"Harry," Hermione's voice was too gentle, too soft. Harry didn't like it, "Did the Dursleys abuse you?"

No. No, no, no. It wasn't abuse, was it? Not if he deserved it. What should he say. SIlence would be an answer. It would be yes. He couldn't get out of this.

"It's okay" he whispered, turning his head towards the fire. Why couldn't he just burn away like the logs. Crumble to dust.

"No Harry. It's not okay."

**A/N: And roooollll credits. **

Epilogue:

Harry sat in Dumbledore's office as he watched Hermione talk to the bearded wizard.

It would be over now. Dumbledore would fix it. Hermione promised that he would. Harry didn't know how, he didn't know what his future held, but right now he was fine.

Not alright. Not okay. Not yet ready to smile, too sad for any happiness to bloom.

But he was fine with what was happening, and that was enough.

**THE END. Thanks for reading. Please please please pleeeeeaaaase leave a comment! Love ya guys.**


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